


Convince me that his word is law

by Allemande



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, The Raven King is pretty perceptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: For what feels like the hundredth time, Vinculus has been abducted by otherworldly creatures. During their search in Fairie, Childermass and Segundus receive help from an unexpected quarter... not just concerning Vinculus's whereabouts, but the nature of their relationship.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Convince me that his word is law

Childermass blinked. He was sure that he had been with Segundus a moment ago. Had they ended up separating after all? Something about sensing a person in need – Vinculus? or someone else? – in both directions...

He shut his eyes tightly and concentrated, shutting out all the magic buzzing actively around him, trying to confuse him.

Yes, Segundus had taken the left path and he the right. He hoped the other man was unhurt... But it was folly to worry about him now, Childermass admonished himself sternly. Surely Segundus, an entirely competent practical magician by now, would be able to deal with whatever came up.

He looked around. He was standing in a clearing, a few feet away from a small, decrepit-looking hut. It did not look as though anyone had lived in it in a while; yet a fire seemed to be burning somewhere inside, and there were recent footsteps in the muddy earth just outside the door.

He suddenly found that he had started walking in the direction of the door already. A quiet, comfortingly familiar tune was playing in his head, telling him that there was no danger. He was not entirely sure that was true; but he thought he would have to find out, as there was nothing he could do now to stop his legs from walking towards the door.

He opened the door to a small sitting-room. A fire was burning low in one corner. At the far end of the room, a man lay slumped on the bed. A chair between the door and the bed was overturned, and a vase lay shattered on the floor; the man's overcoat lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. It looked as though the man had stumbled towards the bed in great haste or without much coordination, and he was not moving now.

His hair was long and dark, and his clothes looked expensive, even though the style had long gone out of fashion. This was a human, Childermass was sure of it; but what he was doing here or how he had come to be in Faerie, lying on a bed after what looked like a great ordeal, he had not the faintest idea.

Childermass had just turned away to inspect the rest of the house when the man, his eyes still closed, spoke in a low voice.

“Water,” he said.

Childermass hesitated for a moment, then went to the small kitchen to find a mug, which he then filled by the well behind the house. When he came back, the man on the bed seemed to look even paler than before, but his eyes were open.

He accepted the water without a word of thanks, drank it all and held it out, wordlessly, for more. Childermass stared at him. The man stared back. Childermass went back to the well to fill the mug and brought it to him once more.

The dark-haired man, his thirst apparently sated for now, put down the mug by the bed and lay back onto the large cushion he had propped up behind him, studying Childermass.

Childermass stared back at him with equal frankness, sitting down in a chair facing the bed.

“You do not remember me, John Childermass,” the gentleman finally said. He spoke in a strange accent; Northern, yet there seemed to be a little French in it.

Childermass frowned. “Have we met, sir?”

The man closed his eyes again and laid a hand on his forehead. “I would show you,” he said, his voice unsteady, “but I am tired.”

Childermass could make nothing of this at all. What did the man mean to show him? Where could they have met without him remembering? (That never happened to him.) And why did this man, even if he were the wealthy gentleman he appeared to be, speak to him in tones of authority and familiarity, as though he were his master of many years?

He had just drawn breath to inquire further when the gentleman raised a hand, opened his eyes a fraction and pointed towards the door. Now Childermass heard it too: there was someone outside, approaching the door in a stealthy, but not completely silent manner. In a moment they would turn the handle, and –

“Defend me,” said the man. 

Why did being ordered around like this not feel strange? Childermass positioned himself by the door just as it opened.

It was John Segundus, and he was looking very bad.

Childermass rushed to his side and helped him sit on the armchair near the fireplace. “What happened to you?” he said, forgetting all about the strange gentleman as he studied the many cuts and bruises on Segundus's face, his ankle which looked rather swollen, and the way he held his left arm at a slightly tense angle.

Segundus waved a tired hand. “It looks worse than it is. Most of it is scratches from those hedges. They really do not like getting out of the way when one is trying to flee fairies,” he said drily.

“Fairies!” said Childermass in alarm. “Several of them?”

“Three.”

“How did you – I mean –”

“How did I get away?” Segundus smiled, no doubt amused by the implication that he was no match for them – or perhaps by Childermass's reticence to say so directly. “They were not after me. They seemed to be looking for someone else – in fact, they were furious that this other person had got away – and...” 

He suddenly straightened up a fraction as he noticed the dark-haired gentleman on the bed, who had been watching them silently. “I beg your pardon, sir, for intruding,” he said. “Is this your house?”

The man shook his head ever so slightly, but did not explain what he was doing here. “I do not know you,” he said instead.

If Segundus was puzzled by this strange address, it did not show. “I am John Segundus,” he said.

“From the South,” said the man instead of introducing himself in turn.

“Yes, sir. From Canterbury.”

The gentleman nodded and laid back on the bed. This exchange seemed to have exhausted him. Segundus cast a questioning glance at Childermass, who shrugged.

“You are not wholly unharmed yourself,” Segundus said, placing a hand on Childermass's arm and indicating his thigh.

“It is nothing.”

“You always say that. That probably means it's a three-inch deep cut.”

Childermass smiled. “Any sign of Vinculus?”

Segundus shook his head, frowning. “I am fairly certain the fairies I met had nothing to do with his disappearance. They seemed to be after someone much more powerful. I heard them saying something about 'taking over two thirds of his kingdoms'.”

Childermass frowned. That little melody had started playing in his head again. What _was_ that? 

Segundus glanced at the gentleman on the bed, who seemed to be asleep. “Who is he?” he whispered.

Childermass shrugged again. “I am not sure. But he seems to be under the impression that I am his servant. And he knows my name.”

“What?” Segundus stared at him.

“John,” whispered the gentleman, and they both turned to him, startled. The man's eyes were open again, although he was now ashen-faced and his breathing came in increasingly deep rasps. He saw them both looking at him and waved an impatient hand. “John Childermass,” he clarified and beckoned.

Childermass, unsure of why he was still following the man's orders, came and sat by his bedside.

“I need you,” croaked the man. “Give me your –” he paused. “And perhaps your lover will consent to help me also. Ask him. I cannot; he is not one of mine.”

This speech brought up so many questions; Childermass had to decide on one of them.

“My lover?” he asked incredulously.

The gentleman looked from him to Segundus and back. “Have you not consummated it yet?” He shrugged. “No matter. Your companion, then.”

Childermass chanced a look at Segundus, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“What do you wish me to ask him?” Childermass heard himself say, as though there had been nothing unusual about the gentleman's request.

“I need his strength as well as yours,” said the man. “You are both magicians.”

There was silence for a moment; then, Segundus cleared his throat. “I will gladly help you, sir, if you will explain what is expected of me.”

“You can give me new life.” The gentleman waved a hand as if to indicate that it was nothing out of the ordinary. “All I need is both of your hands. It will not harm you.” He frowned as, evidently, something occurred to him. “It may leave you weak. You may be without magic for a while.”

“You ask a lot, sir,” Childermass said gruffly. “We are in the Other Lands, with no means of return to England without magic, and we are looking for a friend. – Perhaps you have seen him? His skin is covered in blue marks. He has been abducted by... well, we are not sure by whom.”

The gentleman closed his eyes briefly and sighed, whether in impatience or in exhaustion, Childermass was not sure.

“I will show you how to get back to England,” he said, finally, “and how to find my Book.”

There was total silence in the hut as Childermass and Segundus stared at him.

“Now give me your hands,” whispered the man.

Feeling as though he were dreaming, Childermass exchanged one last glance with Segundus, who was staring at him wide-eyed, and they both moved forward, each grasping one of the gentleman's hands –

_– and at that moment, the sky opened up and spoke to them. It sent the sun's warmth flowing through every fibre of their bodies, and there were no three separate bodies but only one, and the sun was caressing him with his light until he felt warm and whole and untouched by the frost that had permeated his very being only moments ago, and he heard the wind greeting him and smiled, answering kindly in turn, and the wind moved tenderly through his hair like a mother stroking her son, and he could draw breath again, felt the pressure ease from his chest where before there had been a weight pressing on him like lead, and the earth warmed him from below and bore him up, and he stood, and the trees all around the hut moved with his every breath and sang to him, and he reached out and saw through the eyes of their brother trees his enemies, moving away from him, and it was suddenly laughable that they should have incapacitated him so, for now he was strong and whole with the magic of three men flowing through him, and he reached out again and found his Book, not far away, and he sent his Book's attackers packing with screams of terror, and he saw the nearest path to England, and he sent one last greeting to the stones, and the trees, and the earth, and the wind, and the sky, and he let go._

The Raven King stood in the little hut, breathing in the autumn air and feeling the strength returning to his body and the magic flowing through his veins.

He opened his eyes. His servant and and the other man from the South were sitting on the floor before him like children, staring up at him.

For a moment, he pitied them for the glimpse into a larger world that he had just taken away from them; then the moment passed.

“You saw?” he asked, now impatient to move on. “You know where to find him and how to get home?”

They nodded mutely, and he strode past them to the door.

“My lord.”

He turned and saw John Childermass standing before him, his head bowed.

“Forgive me. I did not know you.”

The King smiled slightly. He stepped forward and laid his hand briefly on his servant's cheek as a father would touch a son.

“Not to worry, John Childermass. You more than made up for it.” He turned to go. Then something occurred to him, and he said, “I remember now; it was the same with the last one. What was his name? Findhelm. He had no memory of our first encounter. I had forgotten how bothersome the process was.”

And he turned and left the hut.

* * *

Segundus stoked the fire in his study, revelling in the brief sensation of warmth washing over him before it fell away again. He moved his chair and table as close to it as he dared without running the risk of them catching fire, and tried to concentrate on the book he was preparing for next day's class. There was not much he hoped to accomplish tonight, due to his exhaustion, the chill he could not seem to shake, and the fact that his thoughts kept turning to certain other people currently settling into their rooms in Starecross Hall.

There was a knock on the door, and he felt a sudden rush of excitement mingled with fear.

No. It was probably just Levy, wanting to go over tomorrow's schedule.

Segundus moved to the door.

Childermass ducked in, still wearing his overcoat and looking as chilly as Segundus felt. Segundus gave him a small smile and moved a second chair before the fireplace.

“We must have caught cold,” he said.

“I think it is the after-effects.”

“Of the magic?”

“Of that enormous connection being suddenly cut off.” Childermass closed his eyes briefly and sank into the chair next to Segundus. “God, I can still remember it, but the memory is growing more and more distant, like a dream. You know?”

“Yes.” Segundus knew exactly.

“How are you?” Childermass asked, looking him up and down, his eyes full of concern. Segundus felt the look as something like a tingle right under his skin.

“I'm fine,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level. “Hannah patched me up. This ankle is going to bother me for a while, but other than that... You?”

Childermass only nodded, pointing to where his bandage was showing beneath his breeches.

“Vinculus?”

“Sleeping. I'll need to watch him, though. I think this time around scared him a little more than the others.”

“Well, no wonder. Goblins, of all creatures... We shall really have to devise some way of guarding him from all these attacks, they are getting out of hand.” Segundus sighed. “When do you suppose this feeling of perpetual cold will go away?”

Childermass shrugged. “I am more concerned with when our magic will come back.”

Segundus nodded. “We will have to be patient.”

“Not my strongest suit.”

Segundus smiled. 

They lapsed into silence. Now that Childermass was here, Segundus yearned to be closer to him. It felt ridiculously wrong, this distance between them, when not five hours ago they had been _one_. He felt a violent shiver running down his spine and could not help gasping.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Childermass looking at him. He turned and met the other man's gaze briefly -

_\- and he suddenly had a powerful vision of both of them standing by the fireplace, their arms wrapped around each other, his face buried in Childermass's overcoat, and he would make some inconsequential remark about Childermass being rather tall, and Childermass would reply that it was a good fit nonetheless since his head rested perfectly on top of Segundus's._

Segundus blinked, and the moment passed. Childermass was staring into the fire, and Segundus wondered if he had seen something similar.

They sat this way for a little while longer, the fire barely managing to warm them, and finally Segundus suggested that they had better go to bed.

* * *

It was disconcerting, Childermass thought as he stared into his teacup. Anyone else, and he would have been the first to make some sort of suggestive comment. (Go to bed – but which one?) Not so with Segundus. What was it about the man that made him so bloody cautious?

The kitchen door opened, and in came the man in question, wrapped in a woollen blanket and smiling as he saw him.

“Can't sleep either, then?”

“No chance. Tea?”

Segundus nodded, and Childermass poured him some. When he handed Segundus his cup, their hands met briefly, and it was like a flash of lightning. Segundus's eyes widened as he looked up at him. Then, they both looked away and Segundus went to sit opposite Childermass.

For a while, they sat there in companionable – or was it awkward? – silence, listening to the sounds of the owls outside the kitchen window. 

“We met the _Raven King_ , Segundus.”

“I know. I can hardly believe it myself.” Segundus smiled. “And he is not even my King. What it must be like for you, I can only imagine.”

Childermass shook his head slightly. He had no words to describe that particular feeling.

“Did you see what I saw?” he finally said. “Well, we all did, I suppose. He was the one the fairies were after.”

“Yes.” Segundus frowned, and Childermass knew that he must strain to remember what he had seen while connected to the King. Like one of those blasted dreams, indeed.

“Of course, there have always been rivalling families amongst the Otherlanders,” Segundus finally said in his rather endearing schoolmaster's tone. “It is no wonder that his reign should sometimes be challenged. They must have got lucky, harming him the way they did.”

“And he was lucky that we came along,” said Childermass cautiously. It almost felt like blasphemy to suggest such a thing.

“Or it was foretold,” mused Segundus. “After all, he compared you to Robert Findhelm.”

“He did, did he not!” Childermass sat up straight as the memory came back to him like a blast of thunder. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

“You know what he meant.”

Childermass was silent. 

“He was obviously trying to tell you that you were to become the next Reader,” Segundus continued, undeterred. “Or perhaps, that you already were.”

Childermass got up, moving towards the kitchen counter, trying to examine a faded memory at the back of his mind, something about a man in a moor drawing a symbol onto his eyelids? ... He would have to wait for these memories to return to him fully.

“Can we talk about this another time?” he finally asked.

“Certainly.”

“It's not as though I doubt the King's words, you see,” he clarified. “Although how someone like me is suited to be his Reader, well...”

Segundus, getting up, waved away his objections with one hand as his other was occupied rinsing his teacup in the sink. “We have been over this, Childermass. You are more of a scholar than all the magicians in York combined.”

He remained standing, still a foot or so away from Childermass, but the promise alone of so much bodily warmth within his reach was enough to send a pleasant tingle down Childermass's spine.

“You think too highly of me,” he said.

“I don't think that's possible,” Segundus smiled.

Childermass found that his customary caution was slowly wearing off. Surely, if Segundus said things like that, it was all right to be a little more forward?

“I am perfectly willing to talk about something else the Raven King said,” he chanced.

And Segundus smiled at him as though Childermass were his student and had solved a particularly difficult problem.

“Remind me.”

By all the Saints. This man was far more self-assured than Childermass had given him credit for. He was actually _flirting_.

“Well, I might be mistaken, but I think he called you...” 

“Yes?”

“My lover.”

“Ah.”

Childermass forced himself to breathe. Just one, two steps, and he would once more have that connection, that warmth. But no. He must be patient.

“I suppose you know that it would be outright blasphemy for a Northerner to contradict his King,” he said.

Segundus laughed. “I imagine so,” he replied. “However, a Southerner is not bound by his word. I'm afraid there will have to be another kind of inducement if I am to act on an obscure royal's observation.”

His gaze was now flickering between Childermass's eyes and his mouth. Oh, Christ. This man was not a novice at all, was he. He felt a shiver running down his spine, and blood rushing to his groin.

He stepped closer, holding Segundus's gaze. “Another kind of inducement,” he repeated. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

A little smile was playing around Segundus's lips as he waited, completely immobile against the kitchen counter, for Childermass to approach him further. There was a new kind of heat in his gaze that Childermass had never seen there before.

“Convince me that his word is law,” Segundus said softly.

Childermass, feeling his heart beating in his throat, took another step toward the other man and lifted a hand to cup his cheek. The moment he touched him, a surge of warmth went through him. He could tell by the widening of Segundus's gaze that he felt it too. It was still there, that connection, that brilliant light coursing through them both. All Childermass wanted was to hold on to him, to touch him everywhere at once. Segundus gripped his hips and drew him forward into a deeper embrace, and Childermass kissed him. It was a soft touch of lips on his at first, a request. Segundus arched upwards and they kissed again, deeply, passionately, drawing each other ever closer, stopping only to draw breath, then reuniting, Segundus's hands only briefly leaving Childermass's back to cup his face, then bury themselves in his hair...

Childermass broke the kiss.

“Don't,” Segundus said. Childermass smiled.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said, his eyes moving appreciatively over Segundus's slightly dishevelled appearance. “I was merely thinking we might move this somewhere warmer.”

And Segundus dragged him out of the kitchen and towards his bedchamber without saying another word.


End file.
